Out of the Darkness
by PhantomDuchess
Summary: Based on the movie adaptation of Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical; The Phantom of the Opera.
1. Chapter 1

**"Turn your face away, from the phiction of the day.  
Close your book upon the phiction of the light,  
and read again the phiction of the night!"**

Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, the novel by Gaston Leroux, nor do I own any of the characters from the book. I do not own Andrew Lloyd Webber's (and company) adaptation or any of his characters. Nor do I own ANY of the lyrics which I use from his musical. I own nothing, and am simply borrowing them for the sake of writing this fictional story.

_CHAPTER 1_

He woke to the early light of dawn, pale in the cold morning air. The light streamed into the small abandoned barn, overgrown with weeds. It housed a family of sparrows the loft, and nothing else. He glanced up at them briefly before rising and walking outside. He put up his hand, shielding himself from the sun (to which he was still not used). It was bitterly cold; yet he was not sorry, for it helped to clear his head. He went around to the other side of the building he'd slept in, looking at all he'd been unable to see the night before. Seeing a dirt road he decided to see where it led, guessing correctly that it ended at what had been the main house (home to the family who had owned the farm). From the size and style of it, he thought they must have been of fair means, before whatever happened that caused it to be abandoned for so long. Over to his left was an enclosure of some kind; walls overgrown with vines. Perhaps a garden? Mildly curious, he went to have a look.

There had been a gate it seemed, no longer there. Inside he found a small family cemetery.

"--_Try to forgive_--"

He whirled around; had he heard…?"

"--_teach me to live. Give me the strength to try_--"

In his mind. He heard her…

"--_is there, inside my mind_."

"Stop!" he cried. He flew from the place, back toward the barn. "No more memories!"

The mother of the nest had gone to hunt for food he assumed, so he climbed up to the loft to look at the tiny bird. They were very young, and quite ugly.

"Unappealing creatures," he remarked. A moment later the mother returned, squawking at him furiously. He jumped down, for she seemed likely to attack him.

_Even though they're ugly, she'd cares for them. She'd fight for them. But they are normal. If they weren't? If one had been deformed, wouldn't she dispatch it? Heartless creatures, mothers!_

He put his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair. Then he shook his head, trying without success to rid himself of painful memories…

"Enough!" he shouted. Ohh, why?

Before, to remove thought, he had immersed himself in music. His Music. Despite his attempt to disrupt the train of thought, he remembered how, after seeing that fool and _Her_ on the rooftop of the Opera, he'd buried himself in Music. This was how, and why, he finished Don Juan Triumphant, which he brought to the Masquerade…

He knew he must stop now.

"Leave," he told himself. He took an old horse blanket he'd found there, and departed.

He knew there was a town nearby, and he was correct, for he soon found it. It was not large, but the train ran through it. He covered the right side of his face with the blanket, making a kind of hood of it, and started toward the train station.

He ended a long, uncomfortable journey in Le Harve. He ran from the past, but would never leave him.

* * *

He took very little nourishment and soon became quite thin. It was not long after he reached the beautiful seaside city that he became ill. The virus he'd caught ran it's course, but there was a lingering cough, which was very much aggravated by the fact that he slept in a large wooded area outside the city; hardly shelter from the cold and damp. 

He was able to collect currency (as he always had been, by one means or another), and once he had amassed enough capital, he was able to rent an old house, using clever devices of his own to keep from ever having to show himself to the owner.

Once he was settled in his house, he became well again. As well as he could be, for he could not keep the past from haunting him. If only he could burn from his mind the memory of _Her_ (he dared not even think her name). Every waking hour he tried in vain not to here her voice--

"--_And he'll always be there, singing songs in my head--"_

Time passed slowly for him, as it had most of his life. He tried only once to write music again, but when he took pen and paper, sitting down to write, he was flooded with such emotion as few mortal men have felt, and he abandoned the thought of ever composing again. Instead, he endeavoured to entertain his mind with the goings on of the city. It helped to ease his tortured mind somewhat.

It became a custom of his at night to shroud his face and venture, through deserted alleys and back roads, to observe the people of the city. (He avoided the Musical Hall at all costs, however.) He watched people who supped in restaurants, patrons of local café's who ate in the outside area on warmer evenings, people coming and going from parties, laughing and talking. Then one night, while he was making his way toward a favourite pot overlooking the City Hall (where there were often meetings) noticed a familiar face. He thought: _Well, it has been some time since I've seen _her

The young lady who'd caught his attention was none other than Meg, the daughter of Madame Giry. She was in a small group of people, but obviously being escorted by a young man who appeared to be of, though perhaps not the highest class of society, was certainly not of the middle; and seemed to have a fair amount of money, judging by his clothes and manor of carrying himself.

Curiosity overcame him, and he followed the couple from a distance, careful to draw no attention to himself: but of course, he hardly needed to give that a thought, for it was the most natural thing for him to hide in shadow--

He saw them arrive at a carriage, and one lady from the group was handed in by her husband it seemed, for he waited for the gentleman who escorted Meg to help her into the carriage, then got in himself. _Ahhh,_ thought he to himself, _one of my managers!_ It was indeed Andre who entered the carriage last, waving to his friends as it carried them off. _I wonder…_

The next morning he procured himself a newspaper, and read this announcement in the society page:

"Monsieur Gille Andre arrived yesterday afternoon by train, bringing his newly wed bride, on what he called a 'Continuation of a much too short honeymoon.' Monsieur Andre was co-owner to the famous (or perhaps now infamous) Opera Populaire in Paris. The Opera was recently destroyed by fire in what was called--"

Here he stopped reading, throwing the newspaper down. He stood up, paced a moment, then bent down to pick it back up, skipping over the article 'till he found what he was looking for, then threw it into the fire, watching the flames eat it up.

* * *

He had been waiting some time now. It was cold, but he did not feel it. His mind was in turmoil. His thoughts were: _Shall I ask? Why not? I must know. I _must._ She'll tell me, I am sure. But does she know? Of course she does, _She_ would have told her best friend._ Should he? Would he? He heard her come in, saying goodnight to Mrs. Andre, and shut the door. He would. He waited for her to prepare herself for bed. Only when he saw the flame from her lamp disappear did he decide when to enter. He would wait just another half hour, and then-- 

He closed one hand around her mouth, holding the back of her head in his other. She tried to scream in fright, but little sound emerged.

"Quiet!" he commanded in a whisper. "No harm will come to you, if you only make no sound. Do you understand?"


	2. Chapter 2

_CHAPTER 2_

She looked up at her attacker, unable to see anything but a silhouette. His voice sent chills running down her spine: who was this man? What did he want? She was terrified of what he could do to her. He asked if she understood, and she nodded. Slowly he lifted his hand from her mouth. She didn't breathe. He said:

"I only wish one thing of you: tell me, where -- " He broke off, was silent for a moment, then continued: "Where is your friend, Miss Daae?"

She was confused: why would he want to know where Christine was? What on earth--? She said nothing, frightened beyond words.

"Speak child! Tell me where!" She flinched as he raised his voice. "Tell me only this and I will leave you, at once. I must know!" In that moment she realized who this person was: it was Christine's angel, or demon. It was he! Her thoughts flew wildly; could she tell him? She knew what he asked, but she could not betray Christine. But, he might kill her if she didn't respond. She stalled, saying:

"Of whom do you speak? I know no one by that name." She hoped, perhaps he hadn't seen her clearly, maybe he would think…

"Do _not_ lie to me, Mademoiselle Giry. I knew your mother well, and have known you all your life. You cannot deceive me. Do you take me for a fool? Be not one yourself! Tell me what I ask, at once! Or tragedy may befall you -- or your kin."

Her mother! She could not allow him to harm her mother. Or Christine. She had no chance of fooling him, and she feared if she delayed he would kill her. He spoke again, but this time his voice was much softer:

"I see my dear, that you fear for your friend's sake: I swear to you, if you will tell me, nothing shall happen to your friend. I wish only to know her location, that I may not have the misfortune of happening to see her again. My use of your knowledge is to protect myself from the chance of ever mistakenly happening upon her. You needn't fear for her safety, nor yours or your mothers, if you will only tell me what I wish to know."

Something in his voice calmed her, made her believe him. She spoke, hardly knowing that she did. "She is in Rouen, Monsieur. I know nothing else."

She saw the shape nod, then back away from her. "Wait! Don't go. I have something --" She got up from her bed and ran to her trunk, opening it and reaching inside. She removed an item and walked near him, hand outstretched. He took it from her, then with a swoosh of his cape, was gone; she knew not how.

* * *

He returned to his house in a frenzy of mixed emotions; he was delighted, panicked, mistrustful of himself. Meg had told the truth; of this he was certain. If he'd had any doubt, it was belied by her giving him back his mask. He had that back; again he felt he could hide his face from the world. And now he knew where _She_ was. He had told Miss Giry that he only wanted to know that he might avoid her, but he knew not whether this was true. He rather hoped it was, but he knew in his heart that it was not. 

"Oh, why! Why did I find out! Why did I ever ask!" He hurled the mask across the room and ran to and up the stairs, up all the way to the attic, which was the only place he could sleep. He threw himself on his bed, hiding his face with his cloak (for to hide his face was his want).


	3. Chapter 3

_CHAPTER 3_

Christine had told no one how little sleep she had, but she could not hide the increasingly obvious shadows beneath her eyes. How she hid her thoughts from Raoul. He knew no more of what was in her mind during those moments when she fell silent with deliberation than he knew what a person was doing that moment in China. When he asked, Christine would merely laugh and say how her mind wandered. She knew she could never tell him where her thoughts traveled, for they invariably traveled to her Angel. She thought most of his face when she had come back to give him the ring; and every time that picture entered her mind, she felt her heart break again.

She rebuked herself daily for her treatment of Raoul; she knew she was not fair to him, but she simply could not wed him until she had sorted out her feelings. When she thought of marrying him, the happiness she had once felt at the idea would turn to an unearthly sadness. She felt she needed some time away from him, and so she told him she wanted to visit Madame Giry, who was living outside of Paris now. She went to her former ballet director, hoping to see Meg, but Madame Giry's daughter was away with a friend. It seemed that one of the other ballet dancers had married Monsieur Gilles Andre, and had invited Meg to accompany them on a trip they were making to Le Harve. Christine was very disappointed at this, for she'd hoped that her old friend could help her arrange her thoughts.

* * *

She stayed with Mme. Giry for two weeks, and during that time she began to have a terrible longing to go back to the Opera, to the underground levels… 

"--_Down once more to the dungeons of my black despair_--"

She had to go back there. She could not stop herself. Only, when --?

Late that night she wrapped herself in a warm coat and went to the stable, saddling a horse herself, for she could not tell the stablemen where she was going; they would be sure to mention it to the Vicomte, who housed his horses there, regardless of any instruction that they remain silent. She could ride a horse with ease, and it did not take long to reach her destination. She demounted and looked at what was once the Opera Populaire, now a ruined, burnt skeleton of it's former self.

With a start, she realized that it embodied how she herself felt.

Quickly she entered through the back, making her way to the dressing rooms, to what had been her own. She saw the mirror, left open by the mob. She hesitated, but with a deep breath she went through, starting down the hallway.

She made her way without trouble, for Raoul had told her of the trap door, and she stayed close to the wall on the staircase. Once she came to the water, she took the route that The Phantom had taken her, on that fateful night of the showing of Don Juan Triumphant.

"--_Down we plunge to the prison of my mind! Down that path into Darkness deep as Hell!_"

She was now at his lair, and she walked up the steps from the water, looking around. She felt the tears well in her eyes, and she was surprised at the depth of emotion she felt when she saw how the place had been torn apart by the horrible mob. She was racked with sobs, seeing this place. His organ, his **_Music_**. She saw the mirrors that she had heard him shatter, for the sound echoed still in her ear. She looked at his miniature of the Opera, knocked on the floor. She turned and looked toward the bedroom, and forced herself to walk to it. She looked inside, and in her mind she could see him kneeling there, next the music box.

"_Christine, I lo-o-o-ve you!_"

She turned and fled from this place, unable to bear the feeling it brought back to her.

* * *

The next morning he came down from his loft, and saw the white half-mask lying on the floor. He reached for it, hesitated, then picked it up and applied it to his face for the first time in so many months. Then he went to a window and peered at his reflection (for there were no mirrors in his house). 

"Well, and now _he_ is back." A smile flickered on his face momentarily, before he turned away.


	4. Chapter 4

_CHAPTER 4_

Meg boarded the train, waiving goodbye to Mrs. Andre. She had told her friend that she had to go home, saying her mother was ill; which, of course, was untrue. But how could she stay after what had happened?

As she looked at the train station receding in view, she thought of the visit she'd been paid the night before, and shuddered.

* * *

"Meg!" exclaimed Christine when she saw her childhood friend. 

"Christine? Oh, Christine it is you! I was just…I'm so glad to see you!" The two embraced.

"I thought you were in Le Harve." Though overjoyed to see her, Christine was confused as to why Meg would return so much earlier than was planned.

"I missed home, and --"

"You must have sensed I was here! I have so much to tell you! And you must tell me of your trip to Le Harve."

"Yes…"said Meg.

"Come, let us find someplace to talk."

* * *

He stepped behind a tree quickly to avoid the glance of the man so odious to him. His eyes burned seeing him, much as they had in the cemetery, when _She_ had saved his life; and as they had behind _Her_ mirror, when Raoul was in the dressing room. _Well, Monsieur Vicomte,_ thought he, _where is she? Your _bride_ is not always at your side?_

"Say you need me with you here, beside you--"

"_Where is your wife!_"

* * *

Meg wished now that she hadn't told her friend of her strange meeting in Le Harve, and of the rumour she had heard while there of a recluse who lived in a great house, but was never seen; the possibility of a connection (slim though she thought it to be) hadn't occurred to her until she had come home. Now Christine was telling her of returning that night to the Opera… 

"Christine, you're saying you went back there? Why?" Why had she revisited that place of dismal horror?

"Oh Meg, I can't explain, but…something was pulling me back there. I almost thought…" Christine stopped.

"Thought what?"

"Nothing. Meg, what am I to do? Especially about Raoul," she added quietly.

"You love Raoul, don't you?" When Meg saw Christine hesitate, she prompted: "Don't you?"

"Of course I do." Christine looked down at the floor.

"Then what is the matter? Why don't you set the date for the wedding? Do you want to marry him?"

"Oh, Meg!" Christine lifted her eyes, and Meg saw in them such sadness, such uncertainty. Two tears rolled down Christine's cheeks, and Meg took her friend in her arms and let her cry, worried deeply for her. She could see how unhappy Christine was, yet what could be done? What was the root? What was it that so troubled her mind?

* * *

He followed the Vicomte everywhere he went, waiting to catch a glimpse of _Her_. He told himself that was all that he wanted. To see her just once more. 

Two days passed, in which time he saw _Her_ not once. He found as the more time went by, the angrier he became with this detestable coxcomb. It enraged him to be disappointed day after day, and to keep seeing de Chagne only intensified the emotion. He knew not whether to direct his anger at Meg or the Vicomte. He had been certain that Miss Giry was telling him the truth; therefore he would level his anger at de Chagne. He would make him pay…

"-- _Why would I make her pay for the sins which are yours!_"


	5. Chapter 5

_CHAPTER 5_

Christine's indecision made her miserable. She knew, for Raoul had told her, that Madame Giry had a role in what had happened. She had _known_ the Phantom. But Raoul had told her very little, and Christine didn't want to ask. Not him. She had to ask Madame Giry.

"His name -- his is Erik, my dear," said Madame Giry.

"Do you know anything else? How he came to -- be on display in the circus?" asked Christine.

"I --" Madame Giry sighed and shook her head slightly, looking down; "I believe his mother…sold him to the gypsies. But I know nothing else. No particulars."

"Oh," replied Christine; her eyes had a faraway look. She was lost in thought, which Madame Giry perceived.

"Now, perhaps I should not have told you this," Madame Giry began --

"No, no! Thank you for telling me. " Christine rose from the table they had been sitting at. "Now I can be at peace. Again, thank you." She walked from the room to Meg's room (which they were sharing) and fetched her coat, before going outside for a walk that she hoped would help sort her thoughts.

* * *

He watched Raoul riding back toward his residence. Every evening the Vicomte took his horses for a turn about the city, which would make it ridiculously easy. All he would do was wait, wait until Raoul came to that point where there were no lamps, and the shadow of the building made it almost completely dark. It would take but a moment, but a moment… 

He crouched, his lasso in hand. He was ready, and his victim approached. What relief it would bring, to end the life of the man who'd stolen all his chance for happiness. It was suitable, it was appropriate. His hate consumed him. This was the moment; finally here.

"_It's in your soul, that the true distortion lies --_"

The lasso dropped from his gloved hand. He felt a cold sweat start, and he was shaking. He tried to force himself to stop, but he could not.

"_Christine!_" he whispered. He leapt up and ran off into the night.

* * *

"My dear, why should I not have told her?" 

"Mother, it's just that I'm worried for Christine. She's acting strangely." Meg's mother patted her darling daughter's face fondly.

"Don't worry. I am sure that there is nothing wrong. It was natural for her to want to know."

"Perhaps." Meg still frowned.

"Of course it is. And you need not have any fears; I am sure Erik is long gone from here. Christine is safe."

Meg looked up sharply.

* * *

The air did little to help her, for her thoughts were in chaos. There was an emptiness inside her; such that she could not fill. She found herself thinking of her father. How he would have comforted her! Again she tried, as she had many times before, to persuade herself that, if she merely went back to Raoul and married him, these feelings would fade and she might be content. But, although logic told her this, her heart, her soul, screamed in protest. She rebuked herself once more for her mistreatment of him, but this did nothing to sway her to go back to him. She could not marry him with this feeling of incompletion, this vacancy in her soul. 

Christine remembered feeling this way before; at the cemetery (it seemed ages ago) she had felt overcome with mournful remembrance.

"_Wandering Child, so lost, so helpless _--"

She knew the longing had been no spell; no magic trick, or illusion. It had been her soul transiently admitting her need, her love for her Angel.

"--_Angel oh speak! What endless longings echo in this whisper_."

He was her teacher, her guardian…

"-- _Angel of Music I denied you; turning from true beauty! Angel of Music, my protector_ --"

She turned around and began back, a new determination in her.


	6. Chapter 6

_CHAPTER 6_

He wanted only to return to his house. Nothing more than to live the rest of his life in total solitude…

"_Lead me, save me from my solitude -- _"

He would go back, and the world would never hear from him again. He would die in isolation; for a creature such as himself could not be a part of the living world. Such a beast could have no place among people; he must be always alone. Never again would he be tempted by the seductive but treacherous desire to have more. Never again.

* * *

Meg opened her eyes the next morning, sat up with a yawn and stretched. Her eyes adjusted and she looked around the room. 

Suddenly she jumped up and ran to the bed that had been set up for Christine. It was neatly made, with a note lying on it. Meg read it quickly, then ran to her mother's bedroom at the end of the small hallway, knocking and entering.

"Meg!" exclaimed her mother, who was already awake and just starting to dress. "Mon Deiu! What on earth is it?"

"Look!" She gave the note to her mother. It read:

_My dearest Meg,_

_I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am to have left you so abruptly, but I had to go. I will not tell you where, but I give you my word that I will contact you soon. Forgive me._

_Christine_

"Mother, what are we to do?"

"Have you any idea where she has gone?" asked Madame Giry, her face showing her intense worry.

"No!" Meg looked down, thinking. "Unless -- no, she could not have…Mother! I must leave this instant!"

"Where?"

"To Rouen. I must see the Vicomte de Chagne."

* * *

She hardly knew what she was doing. Leaving had been difficult, for she did not wish to be cruel to her friends, but she knew that she had to go. She must find him, though she did not know how. The only information she had was the city he had been in; she knew nothing of his residence. She began to think herself foolish, but she had no choice. She must find him.

* * *

The maid had looked skeptically at Meg when she asked to see the Vicomte, but had allowed her to wait in the foyer while she told her master of his caller. A moment later she reappeared, apologized for the wait and showed Meg into the library. 

It had been some time since she had seen him, but he greeted her warmly and asked her to be seated. He also offered her refreshment, but she declined, being anxious to get to the reason of her visit.

"Monsieur," she began.

"Please, I must insist you call me Raoul." He smiled.

"Raoul," Meg was uncomfortable using his first name, but she did not want to be impolite; "I have come --" She stopped. Now she was here, she hardly knew what to say. How could she tell him? How could she explain what she did not understand herself?

"Yes, Meg? May I call you Meg?"

"Oh, yes."

He sat down in a chair near her. "You were saying? You have come --?"

"It's about Christine. She was staying with my mother --"

" 'Was?' " The congenial expression faded from his face, replaced by alarm. "What do you mean, 'was'?"

"Oh Monsieur, she is gone! I am not sure where. She left this note --" she handed it to him. "She was gone this morning."

His eyes widened as he read, and when he looked back up at Meg his face showed distress.

"Have you any idea of where she has gone, or why she left? Did something happen?"

Meg had no choice but to tell him of Christine going back to the underground of the Opera, and of her own meeting with the Phantom. She felt that she was betraying Christine, but that she had no other option. "Please forgive me. I don't know what came over me to tell him anything. Monsieur please do not hate me."

Raoul shook his head slowly. "No, I know that that -- man, has ways of bewitching people; of making them do or say what they never would have otherwise. I do not blame you. And it is obvious that he has put a -- spell on Christine." He seemed to suddenly come out of a daze. He stood up and said, "I thank you, Mademoiselle, from the bottom of my heart. I shall leave forLe Harveimmediately."

"I am going there too." Meg also stood. "I must."

"It might be best for you to stay here --" Meg cut him off:

"No, I must go. I shall." She was firm. "I have means of getting there."

"If you are certain, then you must travel with me. It is not safe for you to go such a distance unaccompanied."

"Monsieur, I would not impose --"

"No, I am resolute. Now if you will excuse me, I will be back as soon as I can." And he left the room to arrange the journey to Le Harve; praying that he would find her there.


	7. Chapter 7

_CHAPTER 7_

Christine paid little attention to her room. She had found lodging with little difficulty, but all she had wanted was a place to sleep. Lifting her bag onto the bed she took out a scarf and warmer pair of gloves, then went immediately back outside. She wanted to begin at once.

The only hope that she could see was to inquire from various property holders in the city about a large house located outside the city that had recently been rented. She gained little information this way however, and as the day wore on she became discouraged. Then, on what she thought would be the last place she would try, the gentleman who she was talking to said he thought he might know the place she meant, and directed her to the owner of the property.

It seemed that the old house had been inherited by a young lady, and this was who Christine called upon. Madame Varens, although she seemed to be quite wealthy, nevertheless was very friendly. She told her that she had no personal use for the house, as her husband owned this place right in the city, so she had decided to rent it out. She laughed as when she said that the "To Let" sign had been so old and covered in dust, it could barely be read.

"But my dear, it was rented months ago," said Madame Varens. "How did you happen to learn of it?"

Christine explained that she was searching for someone, and that she had reason to believe that the person living in Mrs. Varens' house could be the same that person.

"Forgive me, but may I ask what contact you have had with this Monsieur --"

"His name was quite strange. I believe it was -- Ignotus. Yes, that was it Monsieur E. Ignotus."

"Did you meet this man?"

"Why, no. I did not meet him. The only contact I have had with him has been through letters. I know nothing of him, except that he pays the rent," she added with a smile. "I take it that he is a withdrawn gentleman, perhaps rather ascetic."

Withdrawn. Ascetic. Recluse.

Christine tried to being herself back to reality. "Thank you so much Madame."

"Do you think it is your friend?"

"I think -- yes, it may be. Would you be so kind as to give me the address, Madame?"

"Of course. Let me go write it down for you." She left the room for a moment, then returned with a slip of paper. Christine took it and thanked her again.

"God go with you," were the lady's parting words.

She took a cab back to the inn. It was not far, and she was soon in the room that had grown quite cold in her absence. But she did not feel this. She felt nothing. She was in a state of semi-bewilderment. _I have found him. I know where he is. But now…_ Sitting at the small desk that had inkwell, pen and paper available for use by the guests, she set the paper the address was written on in front of her and studied it. Who could she turn to for direction?

"_-- Stay by my side, guide me --_"

* * *

He ran, ran as though by sheer momentum he could leave the ghosts of the past behind. He raced to the front door of the house, throwing it open and running inside without closing it. Up the stairs, two flights up to the attic. There, he fell upon his bed. 

He was plagued with thoughts of his love. It seemed that she was all around him, her voice echoing in his mind. He would never be free from this torment; it was his fate, and his doom.

* * *

Christine walked down the road, her eyes searching the area. She had chosen not to take a cab, for it was less than two miles away, and she preferred to walk. She had seen few houses, and none of them had been occupied. She began to think that she had taken a wrong turn when she saw the immense old house loom ahead. The grounds around it were unkempt, and the house itself, though in no obvious need of repair, was aged and uncared for. She hurried ahead, for night was progressing, and it was becoming still colder. 

She passed the gate and continued up the walk to the front door, which was open. The place appeared so ominous, so uninhabited…Christine was just beginning to lose her nerve when suddenly she heard a clap of thunder, and lightning flashed in the sky. Then the rain began abruptly, becoming quite heavy in a matter of moments. She looked down the road she had come and knew that if she were to try to make her way in the dark, with it raining, and the air so cold, she would likely lose her was and become stranded. She would wait.

Closing the door, she walked to a room, going in and finding it empty; completely devoid of furnishings of any kind. She found several rooms this way, and she started to think that she must have the wrong address when she saw a light coming from a room, and she went toward it, her heart drumming so loud in her ear she hardly heard the rain outside. She approached and cautiously looked inside.

There was nobody in the room, but there was a fire in the fireplace. Being terribly cold she went to it to warm herself; then she looked around more closely. This room appeared somewhat lived in, and had a little furniture, consisting of a single chair, a desk, and a chest of drawers. Christine felt a chill start in her spine. She felt as though she had invaded the abode of a ghost. She turned around and went to leave, giving way to her trepidation, when she found herself face to face with the Phantom.


	8. Chapter 8

_CHAPTER 8_

Meg feared that they would not be able to locate Christine. It was getting late, and they already had inquired about her to several people working at the train station (for they knew this was how she must have come there) but no one remembered seeing her. Finally they came across one man who said that a lady fitting their description had asked about and inn she might stay at, and he gave Meg and Raoul the name of the place he had recommended.

"Has a young lady come here seeking a room?" Raoul asked the innkeeper. "She has dark curly hair and brown eyes, and her name is Christine Daae."

"Why do you want to know?" said the suspicious man.

"She is my sister, and we must find her. She forgot to give me the address of the inn where she would be staying," Meg lied.

The man seemed to soften a little. "Well, now that you mention it, a Mademoiselle Daae is staying here. Came this afternoon."

"Could you show us to her room?"

"Follow me." He led them to the second story of the building, and showed them the room. Raoul knocked. "Christine? Christine are you in there?"

"Christine please open the door!" pleaded Meg.

"Christine!" Raoul knocked again, harder.

"Oh, come to think of it, she came and went."

"When?" asked Raoul.

"Oh, about an hour ago."

"Did she say where?"

"No."

"Monsieur, perhaps there may be some clue inside her room." Meg turned to the innkeeper. "Could you open the door for us?"

He looked dubious again. "Please sir! It may be a matter of life and death!"

"Alright, alright." He took out a key chain and tried several of them before finally coming upon the right one. "There you are!"

Meg and Raoul went inside. "It hardly looks as if she were here." Meg began opening drawers in the boudoir. Raoul noticed Christine's open bag on the floor, and was about to look at it when he observed a piece of paper on the desk, and went to see what it was. "Meg, look! An address." Meg looked over his shoulder at it. Beneath the address was written, in Christine's flowing and lovely hand:

"_I've past the point of no return."_

Raoul and Meg looked at each other with wide, frightened eyes.

* * *

He stared at her, staggered with shock. For a moment neither of them made a move, or spoke. He longed to hear her voice; he hoped she would not speak. Then she said: 

"Erik!" _Erik!_ She said that name, that detestable name. The name had been given him by a mother who could not bare to look at him; that woman who…

"Why have you come here!" he said. "**Why have you come here!**"

* * *

She flinched. She had hardly known the word was coming from her mouth. Now she simply continued to stare back at him, saying nothing. She saw he was wearing the white half-mask -- _How did he…?_

"Have you come to torment me? Looking at me like that!"

* * *

He watched the tears well in her eyes, and cursed himself; _You monster! You have made her cry!_" 

"Please, do not -- do not cry," he whispered. He advanced a step, then stopped; for he dared go no further. Oh! She was so beautiful still. Her loveliness was beyond dimension. How could one be so perfect?

* * *

"I have come…Erik! My Angel," she cried. "Please forgive me." She began to walk toward him. "Grant me your forgiveness, I --" 

"No!" he shouted. "Enough! It is too much to bear!" He turned and ran from the room, but Christine followed; followed him up a common flight of stairs, and up a much smaller and narrower one, to an attic. His room, she saw.

"Please, listen to me --"

"Go!" In the dim light from a lamp in a corner of the room she could see him cover his face.

"I beg you to listen to me," she entreated.

"Leave!"

"_Go now! Go now and leave me!_"

She knew now it was true, she had to say it:

"Let me, oh won't you allow me to tell you how I love you?"

* * *

He swirled around and faced her. Was she mad? She did not know what she was saying. _Impetuous girl! Sweet thing of beauty._ How she tortured him! 

"You love **this?**" He tore away his mask to show her his face, his face…

"-- _which earned a mother's fear and loathing; a mask my first unfeeling scrap of clothing_ --"

* * *

Christine's throat swelled when she saw him, but it was because she felt such compassion for this poor creature… 

"_Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known?_"

"I told you before, your face held no more horror for me. I told you the truth." She witnessed such despair in his eyes, shining in the light.

"-- _Those eyes that burn_ --"

* * *

Why did she put him through this? Why did she suffer him to feel such agony? 

"Erik," she said.

"Chris -- Christine!" It gave him such pain to utter her name. He dropped to his knees and wept; hiding his face, he sobbed. He was in a world of unending misery and wretchedness. He did not hear Christine walk over to him, but he felt her hands softly stroke his hair and he looked up at her, tears running down his face.

"-- _Yet in his eyes all the sadness of the world. Those pleading eyes that both threaten and adore._"

"My love, do not reject me. I don't know how you can trust me again, but I implore you to one last time. I cannot live without you." She got down on her knees also, and took his hands in her own. "Please, my Angel."

* * *

Her eyes beseeched him. Could she mean what she said? No, impossible, for no one could love him. He was a beast, a repugnant, misshapen, grotesque being. 

"-- _Hounded out by everyone, met with hatred everywhere; no kind words from anyone, no compassion anywhere --"_

He could never win the love of one so pure, so flawless, so exquisite. Yet her eyes belied his thoughts, and he knew that she was sincere. Could he refuse her love? The only love any human had ever felt for him.

"-- _Why do you curse mercy?_"

He raised his hand, and gently, almost fearfully, touched it to her face. She smiled, and closed her eyes in pleasure.


	9. Chapter 9

_CHAPTER 9_

"This is the place!" Raoul said. "Driver, stop the coach!"

"Are you certain?" asked Meg, looking at the overgrown grounds and rusted gate. She could hardly make out the house itself in the pouring rain and fading light.

"Yes, this is it." Raoul jumped out, but added; "You may stay in the coach if you like."

"No! If you are sure, I am coming." He helped Meg out, and they ran up to the front door, getting drenched in rain on the way. Raoul loudly knocked on the door, but Meg knew in this weather it was unlikely to be heard.

"Is anyone in there!" he called. He banged again on the door. Meg reached underneath his arm and tried the door. It opened, and they went inside. Raoul took a breath to call out again, but Meg put a silencing finger over his mouth and walked forward quietly. Seeing light pouring from a room she went to look, but found only a fire in a room with little furniture. Raoul had been opening doors and looking all around, but had found nothing else. Meg saw the staircase and motioned him to follow her, which he did. However, it appeared that the second floor had less than the first in the way of inhabitability. It was only because the door to it had been left open that she saw the second staircase at all. With the Vicompte close behind her, she made her way up, cringing whenever she heard the wood creaking beneath their weight. When she saw light, she gestured again to Raoul that he not make a sound, and continued up as noiselessly as possible. When she reached the attic, she froze at what she saw, and Raoul bumped into her. He gasped, and she put her hand over his mouth again.

They saw Christine kneeling on the floor, embracing **_him_**. The two had not noticed Meg and Raoul's coming, so intent they were on one another.

Meg looked back up at Raoul, and saw that he had tears in his eyes. She removed her hand, and he watched Erik and Christine until, overcome with emotion, he turned away, and Meg heard him crying silently to himself. She knew why; the display of mutual affection between his love and his nemesis could not be disregarded, nor dismissed as anything but what it was. It stood there, obvious and undeniable: Love. Unquestionable, incontestable. He had first seen it on the night of Don Juan Triumphant; never before had he seen them together, and the passion between them during the performance had confused and frightened him.

"-- _Our passion play has now, at last begun_ --"

Meg walked around to stand in front of him. She could not tell what he would do. He looked at her through his tears, and then looked back at Christine and the Phantom.

"-- _Past the point of no return, the final threshold; the bridge is crossed, so stand, and watch it burn! We've past the point of no return._"

Raoul looked back at Meg, then turned and slowly began to descend the stairs.

She knew in that instant that he would let Christine go.

* * *

Outside in the cold night air, the rain had let up, and would soon stop entirely. They stood under the shelter of the overhang above the door, and Meg heard the Vicomte take a deep breath, and sigh. It was so dark now that they could only just make each others shapes out, and Meg could not see the expression on his face. 

"Come, Raoul," she said in a sympathetic voice.

"Yes," he said.

As they walked back to the carriage, she took his hand. Gratefully he pressed his other hand on hers, an almost imperceptible smile appearing on his face.


End file.
